


Balance

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-04
Updated: 2002-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 05:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The place where Lex can beg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balance

**Author's Note:**

> For Thamiris, who issued a universal call for quick and dirty rimsmut. 

## Balance

by Grail

<http://www.livejournal.com/users/bookend>

* * *

Title: Balance 

Author: Grail 

Rating: NC-17 

Summary: The place where Lex can beg. 

Disclaimer: If they were mine, Clark would know what the top of Lex's head tastes like. 

Feedback: Makes the world go 'round: grail@graffiti.net 

* * *

Clark had never had to hold him down. 

The ultimate in tranquil, in oozing confidence like it was some kind of excess chemical his body gave off at will, Lex didn't... 

Lex didn't squirm. 

Lex could have his cock sucked and maintain the easy composure needed to conduct an international conference call with his father and LuthorCorp's executive board. Legs splayed, chair tilted back, hand calmly scribbling perfect notes with a perfect Mont Blanc pen. Cock halfway down Clark's throat. 

Clark knew. 

They'd done it last week, after all. 

Fingers in Clark's hair. Pushing deeper. Voice a calm thing that droned stock calculations like a well-trained accountant. 

Came with a shudder that rocked the chair and Clark and Lex was still on the phone, demurring at some baiting comment of his father's. 

Lex didn't squirm. 

Didn't push his head back into pillows like Clark, close his teeth around exclamations more animalistic than English. Didn't grip handfuls of sheets and tear into innocent blankets and need a tongue shoved into his mouth to silence dangerous evenings in the loft. 

Lex was always responsive, sure. Talked dirty, urged, twisted his body into impossible shapes. Loved sex and fucking and the difference between the two. 

Bit and sucked and smiled and that was. Good. Hot. Exciting. 

Clark liked endearments, liked sharp teeth on his skin, liked fingers tightening just a little in his hair. 

Clark thinks that maybe he likes this better. 

Sounds ripped from a throat and they're just. Raw. 

Breath like something harsh, like a pressure on Lex's chest and his legs are over Clark's shoulders. 

Clark has to keep his palms pressed to Lex's hips. Keep him down. 

And Lex.  <i>Squirms.</i>

Keeps going up on his elbows like maybe he's going to put a stop to this, like maybe he's going for superglue to make sure that Clark. Never. Moves. 

Panting and forming noises that might be "Fucking <i>god,</i> Clark--" or might be inarticulate pleas and Lex has never pleaded for anything in his life. 

Clark figures that maybe he's doing something right. 

Clark pushes his tongue deeper and tries to determine which universal laws have been shattered. Because Lex. Might be <i>howling.</i>

Such a simple thing. Intrinsic. Easy. Tongue chasing heat and taste and Clark could do this forever, just to see the way Lex's nails scrape at too-expensive sheets, fucking with their million-thread count. Just to feel Lex push up against his mouth and the way his tongue can <i>turn</i> and Lex twists, jerks, wound too tight. 

Tight. That's it, the clench of muscle around his tongue. Hot and slick and Clark keeps pushing and pushing and. 

Reaches back to smooth his hand over the ankle hooked in close to his neck and Lex is dying but he says, "Don't stop. I swear to god I'll kill you if you stop," and it's like a complete sentence is an impossible thing because only half the words have syllables but Clark deciphers them anyway. 

Decides that Lex might really attempt murder because this is something they've never been before. 

Pulls back a little and just licks, licks, forgets tentative, forgets uncertainty, screws inexperience. Lex's eyes now are what he's always wanted to see. 

Gets a better grip on too-taut legs and yanks. Slip of Lex's unresisting body along the bedspread and Clark turns his head. Lets his teeth sink a little too hard into the skin of one pale thigh and Lex says something that might be "Please." 

Equilibrium, then. 

Clark ducks his head and laughs against overheated skin, rubs his cheek on the sweat beaded there. Laughs and laughs and thrusts his tongue as deep as he can reach, as they can reach when Lex's hips go up and his eyelids go down. His cock is so hard that Clark is almost afraid to touch it; curving up towards Lex's stomach like another kind of plea, unvoiced. 

Laughs because it's insanity that this, this act, his tongue cleaving Lex's ass, learning as he goes that quick movements earn curses and slow, deep drives force strangled gasps, that <i>this</i> is their redemption. 

The place where Lex can beg. And Clark can make him. 

Laughs and lets the sound vibrate from his lips and Lex is <i>burning</i> and he says <i>"Clark--"</i> like he means it. 

And Clark fists his hand around Lex's cock and <i>pulls</i> and fights to keep them both on the bed. 

Strokes and searches and feels the surface of his tongue shove up against deeper heat and Lex is gone, jaw set, a rictus, his back a curve as perfect as his skull. 

Hot and heat and tight and muscles that might be hurting him but Clark doesn't care, can't care, just loses himself in letting them feel <i>this.</i>

Loses himself and feels Lex instead. 

Lex on his tongue and his taste and around him, Lex's legs locked on his shoulders. Toes tugging on his hair and maybe it's time for him to move. And Clark thinks that <i>never</i> might be the best word in his vocabulary. 

Clark had never had to hold him down. 

He wonders if he'll ever be able to let them up again. 


End file.
